


The metronome that counted our time together.

by NintendoSatoRi



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Abstract, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Pianist, Angst, Comfort Reading, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Character Death, One Shot, Out of Character, Past Oikawa Tooru/Ushijima Wakatoshi, Sad Ushijima Wakatoshi, Tendou and Ushijima never went to school together, Ushijima Wakatoshi-centric, strangers to lovers-ish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:14:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27077851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NintendoSatoRi/pseuds/NintendoSatoRi
Summary: What can you feel when hearing the piano play late at night, when you're least expecting it?He wondered.
Relationships: Tendou Satori/Ushijima Wakatoshi
Comments: 2
Kudos: 40





	The metronome that counted our time together.

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, I really haven't posted anything in over a month.  
> I'm sorry!
> 
> I've been going through a huge writers block currently, and I've been preparing for Haikyuu Angst Week as well, which is difficult with a writers block tbh.
> 
> But I've been working, and I hope you sometimes come back, especially for the Angst Week, which starts November 1st!
> 
> Other than that, please enjoy the fic.  
> I wrote the first part of it right after watching your lie in april hehe-

Something about hearing the piano play late at night, when you're least expecting it, makes it sound so lonely.

So painful.

So devastating.

Yet also makes it sound so freeing.  
Makes it sound like you're opening up the deepest depths of the ocean, touching the furthest stars.

Then again, it sounds hopeless too.

How else is there to describe what you hear?

How can you describe the emotions you feel, surging through you when you hear the piano being played, so very late at night?

What can you feel?

He asked himself, body leaning against the wall right beside the partially closed door that lead into the music room.  
Ignoring the little changes made, he tapped his fingers along, against the wall as though he were playing it himself.

How could he not? Every pianist would have at the very least heard of this song.  
And even though it's so well known, it would always be one of his favorites.

Clair de Lune by Claude Debussy.

He couldn't help but sigh out alongside the piano, making sure it was as quiet as the soft tapping of his fingers against the wall.  
After all, he didn't want to intrude on whoever was playing in there.

It sounded like they were in pain.  
As though they were suffering because of what their hands were doing, yet it sounded like they never wanted to stop, like playing this was their only purpose in life.

He ceased the gentle tapping against the wall in favor of peeking in through the small opening.

His eyes widened minisculely, pupils taking in the sight that was to behold.

He felt as though he should've never seen it at all.

But how could he not look, for it is far too beautiful to keep his eyes trained on something else.

"Breathtaking." He could hear his voice whisper underneath the sound of the piano, unable to form another word.

Maybe it was fate for him to see this.

The way the room was dimly illuminated by the moon.  
No, it wasn't the full moon, far from it.

A waxing crescent moon, he could decipher after taking a quick glance at the moon through the window.  
He could remember the terms from a former lover, one that is now long gone, and only a mere memory left dear in his heart.

But he didn't miss him, not when he could watch the pale, slim fingers slide across the keys, pressure being placed on them so feather-light.

His legs moved of its own accord as he walked through the door silently, needing to watch the performance in closer proximity.

It was as though a spell had enchanted him, an irresistible force pulling him in closer and closer and-

Ah.

He stopped in his tracks, not wanting to bother the other as they still played, the concentration not yet broken.

Until it all went silent.  
The music came to a stop and the man had to refrain himself from asking why the other had stopped moving their nimble fingers across the black and white keys.

"May I ask what you are doing here?"

He jolted, albeit how subtle it was. He took note of the playful lilt at the end of their voice, though it sounded serious all the same.

And when he met the other's eyes, the enchantment still there, the words could only slip out.

"You play beautifully."

The other seemed taken aback, red pupils glimmering as their eyes widened.

"Are you being honest?" Their voice wavered, hands trembled slightly as they rested on the keys.

He paused at the question, eyeing the stranger before him.  
"Of course. I never lie when it comes to music."

It was silent, though the sound of the pianist with red eyes playing the instrument was still reverberating inside of his mind.

A clock, hanging on the wall sounded much like a metronome.

Tick.

Tock.  
Tock.  
Tock.

Tick.

Tock.  
Tock.  
Tock.

"... Thank you."  
It was soft, gentle.

And as they looked at each other, he could feel a warmth spreading throughout his chest, one that he knew the red-eyed pianist, who played so beautifully in the dark, could feel it too.

"Tendou Satori." The other's smile was light, inviting.

"Ushijima Wakatoshi." His face barely held the ghost of a smile, though they both knew that he had reciprocated the actions.

\--

Something about hearing the piano late at night, when you're least expecting it, makes it sound so wonderful.

They learned that together, as each time they slept, the other would eventually slink out of bed to allow themselves to play the piano.

And the other would always wake up to the melody playing, joining their partner in the music room where the piano stood.

They would play alongside each other, melody fitting so well. Their breaths would mingle, their fingers would brush against each other and hands would cross over and under to reach a key that needed to be hit.

Each time, he would ask himself the same question.

What can you feel?

He would contemplate the potential answer to it, so much so that his fingers faltered and hesitated to press the next key. Then the other would always press it for him.

He was grateful to have met someone like Tendou Satori.

Tendou Satori was the person to add those subtle changes to his otherwise perfect form and accuracy.  
He played correctly, though it missed the emotions.

Tendou Satori gave him exactly that. Through different moves of fingers, pressing the keys down with different pressures, he changed up the perfect playing into something that would drag you into his circle of emotions and drown you in it.

He played as though he were to die the moment his fingers left the keys, the moment the piano stopped creating sound.

Ushijima admired him for that.

And so, he was drawn to Tendou's playing, was drawn to the glint in his ruby red eyes, the way he could capture you with the notes he played.

Much like how Tendou was drawn to Ushijima's playing. The graceful fingers moving just how they were supposed to, the way his body moved only slightly to the music, the way he knew how to play so immaculately.

They truly were perfect together, their styles clashing in a way only they would fully understand.

He thought he knew what he could feel.

I feel happiness.

\--

Something about playing the piano in a place full of people, when you're fully expecting it, makes it sound so disgusting.

The situation made him push back the question he had otherwise always asked.

What can you feel?

Ushijima felt his upper lip twitching, eyebrows furrowed in pain and anger as he pressed down on the keys, harder with each note played.  
It wasn't graceful. It wasn't beautiful.

They didn't need to hear it.  
They weren't allowed to hear it.

Then again, it wasn't like they could hear the difference anyways.

Ushijima wanted to scoff, call them all pathetic.

How dare they ask him to play at his beloveds funeral, when they know that this was meant to be a secret only for the two to share.

How dare they expect that it was a question worth asking.

His eyes widened.

No, he can't be mad at them.

How dare he agree?

And as he finished playing, his eyes glued to the picture of his love and the silence suddenly overwhelming, he felt nothing.

\--

Something about playing the piano late at night, when you're the only one expecting it, makes it sound so painful.

Ushijima realizes he was wrong.  
He didn't know what he could feel whenever asking himself the question.

What can you feel?

Though he was sure of the answer now.  
When hearing the piano play late at night, the only thing he could feel was anguish.

Burning inside of him, it tore him apart.

His fingers moved quickly, trying to express the agony he felt.  
Faster and faster, until his heartbeat was the only thing he could hear, the only thing he could focus on.

His heartbeat was quick, still full of adrenaline but the tears wouldn't stop coming.

The slow burn of pain flaming up inside of his chest, the fire licking his flesh hurting him more made him gasp for air yet nothing was reaching his lungs and Ushijima had to let go of the keys in order to breathe.

The tears finally arrived.  
The pain finally set in.

And as Ushijima sat quietly in their once shared music room, he cried.

The way the tears fell were beautiful. Elegant and oh so pretty and yet the reason they were falling wasn't.

It was painful.

Everything was painful.

Ushijima was fully aware of it.

Seconds, maybe minutes or hours passed by and he could hear an old metronome in the closet ticking.

Tick.

Tock.  
Tock.  
Tock.

Tick.

Tock.  
Tock.  
Tock.

Maybe that went on for hours, Ushijima wasn't sure of the time.

But as he stared at the waxing crescent moon, now a whole new meaning attached to it, he smiled.

It was faint, but it was there.

His lips parted in a final realization.  
He allowed his hands to move to the keys, pressing down on the last note.

"Goodbye, Satori."


End file.
